


Fear

by Sourr_Lemonn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, My First Fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23856634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sourr_Lemonn/pseuds/Sourr_Lemonn
Summary: Sherlock's been quite stressed lately. He doesn't know how to sort it out.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Fear

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic was conceived by prompts, in no particular order. This was some sort of drabble just to see how much analogies I could manage in one fic.
> 
> The prompts:  
> Soldier, chess, nightmare, spiders.

The nightmares. They were daunting at times.

Ever since--𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, they'd come for him. Just, out of the blue, like a discerning daydream. Full of vivid horror, dripping out hotly from his senses. Fraud, Fraud, Fraud, that's what they all called him. Weirdo, freak, machine

Emotionless is another nickname. Distant. Brain without a heart and all that. He felt, and acted as such, never batting an eye. His actions always led to an indescribably and irrevocably dangerous mess, and everybody had to clean it all up. 

The voices. 

They'd always come. Shooting through his ears with a dull ricochet. 

"People are at stake darling, the time is ticking..."

"Checkmate."

"Do you see them?"

Ringing like a million bells in his ears, with the strength of a thunderclap, dizzying him in every episode. It's terrible, with a numbing feeling, like a drug. Memories flood through him like an inevitable tsunami, attempting to drown him out, obliviate him from existence, as though irrelevant. 

Irrelevant. 

Like him. 

He cries. Sobs like a five year old. Bawling his eyes out until they practically explode. As silent as he can, he bottles up every single tedious emotion that had to be dealt with. Nobody needs to know. Nobody wants to know. Nobody cares.

This time it's spiders. Crawling out from everywhere, the dark shadows, hideous beasts accompanying them in haste. Looming over the shadows, the ringing back again like a sullenly comforting lullaby. Blood trickling out the places where its meant to be. They all mean one thing, one thing that only he can deduce.

Fear.

The fear of losing 'everything' . 

Then comes in his hero, door swings open with a discerning creak, a stumpy figure looming over to tend to his sorrows. Hands shaking as they did in the war, clutching at his arms like the only suitable artillery. The remains of gunfire etched into his eyes which stare intently at his own, and one word that is declared his only source of reply:

"It's nothing." 

Sentiment is a dangerous disadvantage, he says. 

Never had that statement been more true.


End file.
